


all that's left is molecules of you

by joonswig



Series: you ain't nobody (til you got somebody) [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Internalized Homophobia, Lord, M/M, character's name spelled as donghyuk, dissociating in a convenience store, mark is sad??? all the time, popular culture elements used as metaphors, rated T for language I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 11:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonswig/pseuds/joonswig
Summary: "Talented people turn sorrows and mistakes into pieces of art. Mark isn’t talented and hasn’t left his flat since Monday."





	all that's left is molecules of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avarie/gifts), [LittlePrinceCyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePrinceCyanide/gifts), [HoransonCrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoransonCrew/gifts).



> hi im emma
> 
> i havent been posting for a while and im coming back hehe im so sorry. the thing is, this fic is sad, like, mark is literally crying for 45 days straight. i hope you like it despite it being a mess i suppose. big thanks to my friends who have been nice about it and helped me with making watergate a metaphor for mark being a sad dude. title inspired by 'molecules' by hayley kiyoko
> 
> i made a spotify playlist for this
> 
> trigger warnings: implied internalised homophobia, main character is going through a shitload of issues so yea

**_1._ **

 

Fuck.

 

**_3._ **

 

What ruined Hamlet wasn’t the death of his father — it were the changes it brought about.

 

**_8._ **

 

Tracy Emin’s most famous and critically acclaimed work is called ‘My Bed’. The English artist’s work was exhibited in Tate in 1999, causing public distaste and controversy. When asked about her inspiration, the woman said she hadn’t left her bed in several days, ate nothing, drank her sorrows away with alcohol. She experienced a flash of sudden realisation how much of a mess she had made her life be. Talented people turn sorrows and mistakes into pieces of art. Mark isn’t talented and hasn’t left his flat since Monday. His parents think he’s sick, let him be, ignore the tear stained pillows.

Mark goes out, finally. He goes to a convenience store just round the corner to get chocolate. He doesn’t bother to change from his sweats. It tires him to leave the warm comfort of his bed. Walking in the summer sun which  piercing his eyes is not a favourite, either. The entire surrounding is a blur, his head is pounding. He almost lets out a cry of relief when the cold air from the store AC embraces his skin like a soothing balsam.

He sort of blacks out, dissociates, _whatever_ , standing in the chocolate isle. He has trouble picking one, an ugly voice in his head telling him he shouldn’t be eating anything. The cashier starts looking at him suspiciously, so he grabs two bars of Bounty, pays and leaves as quickly as possible. If he weren’t so worn out, he would have ran, but he simply plods back home.

 

**_16._ **

 

Jean Paul Sartre and Albert Camus used to be friends, very close ones. Their viewpoints differed, their moralities, too, but they remained together. One reason might have been their common circle of peers, other French intellectuals writing essays and smoking cigars in the richest districts of Paris. Another, one Mark was more inclined to believe, was that when your life is overlapped with someone whose perspective is polar to your own, you grow. It’s stimulating, finding counterarguments against their stances and actions, your own’s as well, like a non-stop debate on anything and everything. He imagines Camus and Sartre sat on a bench in Parc des Buttes-Chaumont or Jardin de Luxemburg, discussing the works of Augustine, Hegel, Descartes, delving deeper and deeper and deeper, milking every word dry. They didn’t stay friends for too long, though. Camus grew to hate someone he had been so close to, when Sartre showed support for the Soviet politics. Both men were communists, but Jean Paul drifted away from the ideals, accepted the brutality that came with the Gulags. Camus wasn’t able to — he valued life over anything and violence inflicted on the innocent as a demonstration of power was in no way moral. Mark learned one thing from this story: if you do shitty things, you lose the people you care about most.

 

**_25._ **

 

He really hates how his entire life is dictated by those who wouldn’t love him for who he is. Donghyuk did. Mark let him go.

 

**_27._ **

 

Nyctohylophobia is the fear of woods in the night. Mark has to admit that he must have developed a fear of the complete opposite, the city in the day. When he does go out, it’s forced. His parents give him worried looks to the point where he feels guilty. It’s not terrible, sometimes, when he manages to find a remote, shadowy place where he can hide, unbothered by the bustling of the streets and the heat radiating from the mortar pavements. He allows himself to rest, tries not to overthink, or think at all for the matter. Sometimes he succeeds and it’s cleansing. Today, he doesn’t.

USA has a history of terrible presidents, but Mark’s least favourite is Nixon. When the Washington Post revealed his many cover-ups concerning the war in Vietnam, the public grew distrustful of the man. However, powerful white people don’t care about trivialities like that for long. Disaster in the Nixon administration struck when the same newspaper published the details of the Watergate scandal. The president was involved in the planning of a break-in into the Democratic National Committee headquarters. He is also said to have bugged his opponent’s offices. Americans felt betrayed by their own head of state. Mark used not to understand — a let down is the least you get for electing a republican president. And yet, when Mark sees Donghyuk walking down the street with another boy, looking so incredulously happy, he feels betrayed by his own, foolish mistakes. He stands, stupefied. Perhaps it's his clouded judgement and lacking memory, but Mark doesn’t remember Donghyuk ever smiling so widely with him as he is now.

Mark took small steps to overcoming his prejudice against going outside, but just like that, he’s back to square one.

 

**_28._ **

**  
**

He still loves him.

 

   
_**29.** _

 

His mother asks him what’s wrong. Mark wants to tell her everything, but he’s still so scared.

 

_**36.** _

 

Mark’s favourite mathematician is Percy John Heawood, primarily because his nickname was Pussy. Heawood devoted most of his life to the study of the Four Colour Theorem. He managed to find a mistake in Alfred Kempe’s proof and published his own findings. He died, unaware that his own theory would soon be disproved by computer calculations. Mark used to think he would want to know if he were Heawood. Ignorance isn’t always bliss.

Ever since he acknowledged his feelings for Donghyuk, however, he wishes not to. Because if not, he could get a girlfriend. He could concentrate on his studies and go to law school like his parents always wanted him to. He wouldn’t have kissed Donghyuk that day.

Mark remembers every second. The feeling of the boy’s palms on his cheeks is engraved in his mind. It physically hurt him to pull away. It hurt even more, seeing the hopeful look in Donghyuk’s eyes, knowing he’ll have to let him down.

They yelled a lot.

Sometimes, it’s better to die without ever knowing the truth.

 

**_39._ **

 

Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin used to be together. Their relationship was heated and passionated like the Provence sun they watched set from their bedroom window. Vincent wasn’t easy to love, struggling with various mental and physical illnesses. At some point, Gauguin wanted to leave, which upset his lover beyond imagination. Paul spent the night at a hotel. Upon his return, he learned that Vincent cut his left ear off. After Theo, Vincent’s brother, confirmed that his condition was stable, both men left Arles. That was the last Gauguin and van Gogh saw of each other. Mark prays for Paul to come back.

  
_**41.** _

 

Icarus loved the sun. The sun was a metaphor. It melted his wings and caused him to fall for his death. Mark loves Donghyuk. He is the sun. He melts Mark’s heart but isn’t responsible for his downfall — this misery is one he put on himself. Mark thinks he would give anything to bask in Donghyuk’s glow again.

 

**_45._ **

 

Achilles and Patroclus were Greek warriors. Their relationship remains a mystery to historians, who can’t decide whether or not they were a couple. Homer is vague about the bond between the two men. Mark thinks Achilles loved Patroclus like he loved Donghyuk — with no limits and under no conditions. The heroes’ ashes are said to be stored in one golden urn. It’s as if true love prevailed forever, through the ups and downs.

“Mark!"

He can't believe his ears.

“Mark, hi!"

He turns around, mouth slightly agape. It seems impossible, but it's really Donghyuk behind him. Mark's own voice fails him.

“How have you been?" Donghyuk asks. He isn't angry, doesn't seem so at least.

“Okay," Mark lies, "you?"

“Fine, I guess. Long time, huh?"

“Forty five," Mark blurts out.

“What?"

“It's been forty five days," he explains, on the verge of cracking. He doesn't want to make a scene. Donghyuk is the victim, it's not his role to play.

The boy is silent for a second, eyes casted on the ground. Mark isn't able to take his own off Donghyuk ever since he appeared. He's beautiful, so beautiful and Mark can't breathe.

“Forty five too many, don't you think?"

A newfound surge of confidence helps Mark smile. It's small, a barely noticeable lift of his mouth's corners, but it's the first one in what feels like forever.

“Yeah," he says. Tears are ghosting his eyes, Donghyuk's, too, “definitely."

**Author's Note:**

> hi again
> 
> this thing was a monster but a happy sequel is on its way 
> 
> lets talk on [twitter](https://twitter.com/loonamono)  
> [buy me a ko-fi <3](http://ko-fi.com/joonswig)


End file.
